


Lust for Life

by stjimmyjazz



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjimmyjazz/pseuds/stjimmyjazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New in town, Blaine Anderson is dragged one evening into a sketchy, punk club downtown and meets a very interesting character.  AU.</p><p>This is my (very) late answer to the whole badboy!kurt trope, and spurred on by some lovely, leather-clad, Chris. This is another one that I’ve been sitting on for a long while, and, if it has a good enough response, there’s a much longer story in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

How Blaine Anderson ended up crushed between hoards of spikey-haired, leather clad, jumping and screaming punks on a Thursday night is entirely a mystery. All he knows right now is that his ears are going to ring for days and he’s never had his toes stomped on this much in his entire life. With all the people jammed inside, it’s hot, humid, and reeks of sweat and smoke. And it’s only his fourth day in New York City.

This is nothing like the music that normally graces his collection; while vast, his music mostly consists of show tunes and Top 40s of the past decade.

But this music, it’s fast and absolutely unapologetic; the band barely can play their instruments, but it doesn’t mean they play with any less enthusiasm. They, like just about everyone in the building, are completely trashed, their lyrics are almost completely unintelligible. The bass line thrums through Blaine’s veins, and before he knows it, he finds himself jumping up and down in unison with the entire crowd. He wants to scream along with everyone else, but he has honestly no idea what they’re saying. It’s completely liberating: no one here actually knows him and the frenzied chaos of the club is contagious.

So absorbed in the music, Blaine doesn’t notice his company has rejoined him until drink is shoved into his hand by Sam. Sam, his only real friend in this brand new city, who also hailed from Ohio and is responsible for dragging Blaine into this creepy, dingy club tonight.

“It’ll be fun!” whined Sam earlier that evening after spying the line of mohawked punks assembled outside on the sidewalk. “What’s the point of being in a new city if you’re not going to try new things?” he reasoned before Blaine finally gave in. Sure, he’d heard the music before, seen a few green-haired, leather-clad guys wandering through Columbus, but to actually go into one of their clubs? The thought had never even crossed his mind.

Then again, everything that is Blaine’s current life had once been a dream, tucked away in the back of his mind, resigned to remain a dream and only that. But one moment he was tearing open a surprising congratulatory letter from his top choice university, offering him a place in their graduate studies program, and the next he and Sam had signed a lease and were packing up a U-Haul, leaving Ohio in the dust.

“Dude, this place is insane,” Sam shouts in his ear; he can’t help but thank whatever powers that be that he’s no longer infatuated with his best friend any more. He’s pretty certain that this time last year, he wouldn’t have been able to contain himself with Sam’s body pressed right up close to Blaine’s side. “You glad I dragged you along?”

“I think so?” He’s not entirely sure to be honest. He definitely feels out of place.

Blaine winces at the bite of some kind of hard liquor as he downs his drink, when he sees him. He’s got a few inches on scrappy Blaine, and his studded leather jacket stretches tight across his broad shoulders. The stage lights glint off of the metal piercings in his ears and his short hair is messily streaked with color and he’s got a jawline to die for.

It’s an accident really that their eyes should meet at all. But when they do, Blaine forgets everything around him. This guy’s eyes are, for lack of a better word, mesmerizing. Blaine can’t tell if they’re blue or gray or some mix of the two, but he knows immediately that he wants to lose himself in them.

He quirks an eyebrow at Blaine, taking in his oh-so out of place appearance. If he had known where he was going to end up tonight, Blaine’s pretty sure he would have forgone the sweater vest and tie combo, but it’s too late for that now. But unlike the bouncer at the front of the club, this new guy seems genuinely amused by Blaine’s fashion mishap; the corners of his mouth (his incredibly fantastic mouth, Blaine can’t help but think) turn upward in the beginnings of a smile. He maybe from Ohio, and he may not have ever had a boyfriend, but Blaine knows this gorgeous man is unmistakably checking him out. And _goddamn_  does it feel good.

Blaine almost misses the subtle jerk of the guy’s head motioning to the back of the room. But when he starts elbowing his way back through the crowd, Blaine gets the message. With a quick word to Sam, he battles his own way to the back. He catches a quick glance of the guy’s leather-clad back heading into the bathroom. Blaine stops for a moment. Should he wait outside for this guy or is he supposed to be following him inside? Deciding that the bathroom would provide enough quiet for them to make their introductions, Blaine pushes open the heavily graffitied door.

He barely has time to take in the dingy, dirty room before he’s grabbed by his shirt collar and pulled forward. He has even less time to process the mouth that has sealed itself over his own lips.

Maybe it’s the fair amount of liquor in his blood, or maybe it’s the incredible gentleness of the way the stranger cups his jaw, but Blaine doesn’t fight it; in fact, all that comes out of him is a small, surprised squeak before he finds himself melting into it with a quiet sigh. One kiss leads into the next, which is followed closely by another, each one deeper and dirtier than the last before both men are left panting for breath.

Blaine’s sandwiched between the hard, concrete wall and this gorgeous man who’s begun assaulting Blaine’s neck with rough, biting kisses. Yes, Blaine knows what he’s doing is unbelievably irresponsible and dangerous (he’s trying really hard not to think about what his mother would say), but honestly the tightness in his jeans is a much more important at the moment. A sharp nip at his throat goes straight to his cock; his hips jerk forward in desperate search of relief coming into glorious contact with the stranger’s thigh.

“Yeah?” comes the man’s gruff whisper, pressing his leg further into Blaine’s groin. He reclaims Blaine’s mouth, tongues meeting in the middle.

Blaine tangles his fingers into the man’s multi-colored hair, breaking the kiss. “What’s your name?”

The man chuckles. “Need something to scream out?” Blaine doesn’t have the words to answer him: a sharp gasp is pulled from his lungs as a hand presses against the front of his pants.  _Hard_.

And slowly, as if he was waiting for Blaine to say stop, the stranger tugs at Blaine’s zipper. All Blaine can do is whimper.

Before he knows it, Blaine pants and boxers are pooled on the dirty floor, the stranger’s hands stroking and squeezing anywhere and everywhere, and Blaine has his own hands scrambling to get into his new friend’s pants. He’s so sure that he should say stop, put an end to this before it goes too far, but the rational part of his brain is losing terribly to his dick.

“Seriously, I never do this,” Blaine gasps. He can feel the man’s grin against the soft skin of his neck, and he suddenly sucks the flesh into his mouth, nibbling oh so gently.

“First time for everything, right?” the man answers, voice raspy. He covers Blaine’s mouth with his own once again, hands gripping Blaine’s hips. He breaks it off without any warning, flipping Blaine around so Blaine is facing the wall. 

The man pulls his hands off of Blaine’s dick. Blaine nearly cries out, frustrated at the lost contact. But he can feel the man wiggling his hips behind him, shimmying his own tight pants to mid thigh before thrusting his pelvis right up against Blaine’s ass. There’s a moment, however brief it is, where Blaine is suddenly scared. But the terror passes just as quickly as it comes, with gentle hands now stroking up and down his sides. Tongues slide into each other’s mouths, their hips working together to find a rhythm.

There’s absolutely no finesse to their movements, no skill, just raw and instinctual need. Maybe one or both of them realized that someone could walk in on them at any moment.

Maybe not.

Rough grunts reverberate off the concrete walls, the dull bass of the music thumps around them. The man grabs two handfuls of Blaine’s ass, squeezing the cheeks together, dick sliding hot and sweaty between them, the head of his cock gliding past Blaine’s hole and bumping into the back of his balls. Blaine finally brings a hand down to himself, gripping, twisting on every upstroke to get himself off.

His orgasm hits Blaine out of nowhere; with a sharp gasp, he comes right there, splashing across the graffitied wall he’s pressed against. His hands spasm, he clutches at the man’s leather jacket behind him.

The man follows with just a few more bruising and frantic thrusts. He bites down on Blaine’s neck, on the same spot he’s been working on ever since they entered the bathroom. He comes with a growl ripped from  the very back of this throat and Blaine can feel the come sliding between his cheeks, dripping down his balls.

They stand there, panting for breath, slumped against the wall.

Finally, the man stands on his own; Blaine slides down a few inches, knees still weak from his orgasm.

“Well,” the man says. “That was fun.” He pulls up his pants, buttons them back up, and adjusts his jacket back in place. Blaine starts, scrambling for his pants.

“Wait, are you leaving or something?” Blaine asks, an embarrassing note of panic seeping into his words.

The man huffs out a laugh. “Uh, yeah. That’s kind of how this goes.” He’s already pulled out a cigarette from one of his pockets and tucks it behind his ear.  Blaine bites his lip. Even though he doesn’t do this anonymous sex thing, he knows what the expectations are.

And being clingy and annoying isn’t what he’s supposed to do.

“You never told me your name!” he blurts right as the man is about to exit. He stops before the door opens, surveying Blaine. Blaine must look ridiculous: in his boxers, jeans still pooled at his feet, pale legs on display, bow tie in need of adjustment, practically begging. “My name’s Blaine.”

The man cocks one pierced, eyebrow, and grins. “Kurt,” he says, wrenching the door open to leave. As an after thought, he turns back to Blaine. “I definitely got come on the back of your shirt. Baking soda and cold water’ll get that out.”

Just as randomly and suddenly as he entered his life, Kurt’s gone without a trace.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine woke up completely hard, the leftover moan from his dream breaking past his lips. It’s been the same every morning since that night nearly a week and a half ago when he met Kurt.

_Kurt_.

Not a day passed by where Blaine hadn’t thought of him. He doesn’t want to say he’s smitten; “smitten belongs to schoolboy crushes, giggled about across library desks. Blaine Anderson is not “smitten.”

But that certainly doesn’t mean he isn’t completely head-over-heels for this Kurt guy. Kurt, with his strong, broad shoulders that filled out his black leather jacket, his soft, thick hair: Blaine just wants to run his fingers through those locks just one more time and find each and every pink, black, and green streak. He wants that little scratch of Kurt’s stubble that rubbed against his cheek and left just a hint of burn on the side of his neck.

And his… fascination with this Kurt is leading Blaine’s hand down, down, down his body and into the front of his pants to get a firm grip on his dick.

He not going to freak out, he can’t let himself freak out. Because when he steps away, the fact remains that what they did was completely unsanitary and pretty unsafe, and that he can practically hear his high school health teacher screaming in his ear, but it was some of the best sex Blaine ever had. If it wasn’t for the line of hickeys on Blaine’s neck that just won’t seem to go away, it’s almost like nothing happened. That Kurt didn’t exist.

Sam had certainly seen the man Blaine walked away with, but it’s not like Sam knew Kurt. Of course not; Sam’s just as new in town as Blaine is. Blaine was legitimately tempted to go back to the club twice already to look for Kurt, but wimped out at the last moment. He’s started double-checking all the crowds of rough-looking punks loitering around the neighborhood, to no avail.

He didn’t know what it was about Kurt, but Blaine knew what he wanted: to just by chance, by incredible serendipity, meet Kurt again and something, anything, happen between them. Just so he knows that he didn’t make Kurt up in his head.

He comes with Kurt’s name on his lips and the phantom weight of Kurt’s hard cock grinding against his ass.

**

“Rough night?” Sam’s scraping his knife cross this toast when Blaine finally enters the kitchen for breakfast. Blaine’s stomach growls as the smell of Sam’s omelette hits him.

“Not particularly,” mumbles Blaine, pouring himself some coffee.

“You want to go to the gym later?”  Blaine groans in answer, collapsing onto one of the chairs. All he really wants to do is stay inside today. “You’ve been in a funk lately, dude,” Sam says, sitting across from him and inhaling his omelette.

Blaine reflects on it for just a moment.  Sam’s right. The past week he’s just been off. It’s irritating Blaine because he knows why, and can’t do anything about it. Fucking Kurt. _Literally_ fucking Kurt. Blaine knows, intellectually, that the chances of meeting him again in a city of over eight million are slim-to-none. He really doesn’t want to be that guy who just can’t get over a one-night stand.

“It’s totally that guy from last week, isn’t it?” Sam derails his train of thought. Blaine’s head pops up from where it was resting, mouth sort of open. “It is, right? You’ve got that same look you had last year when you wanted to bone me!” His enthusiasm is way too much for this early in the morning. “Dude, we just need to go out again and get you like actually laid and-”

“Oh dear god, no,” Blaine groans. Sam quiets, turning back to his breakfast after a long moment. Blaine’s incredibly grateful that he’s allowed this pity party in the middle of their kitchen. Sam’s really quite wonderful that way.

It had been tough for him and Sam at first. They certainly weren’t friends for a long time -- well, long when it comes to the realm of high school.  In reality, their general animosity towards one another only lasted a short while. There were months of just run-of-the-mill friendship, and really, it was only that they were friends by association. Which was completely fine -- Blaine had his friends, though really they were more acquaintances, in high school, and was really quite content with that. It was safe.

And then senior year it just. Well. They became best friends. Suddenly the boy that never had a close friend had a best friend. It was fantastic, and so freeing to suddenly have someone that he could just open up to whenever.

It was only a matter of time until Blaine would fall for his best friend.

But they moved past it. Blaine let that crush fizzle out, slowly, but surely, and he can never thank Sam enough for not being freaked out and rejecting him. It would have been so easy for him to just ditch Blaine, and leave him alone and friendless, the gay boy who just didn’t know how to keep it together.

But here they are today, splitting a small apartment in Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Sam suddenly stands up, plate in hand. “Hey, you know you can talk to me whenever right?” he says. Blaine could kiss him for being this nice and cool to him.  

Instead, he just smiles with a quick word of thanks. Sam leaves him to his thoughts, going into the tiny bathroom off the living room to start getting ready for his day.

**

Classes will be starting soon for Blaine, for which he’s incredibly thankful. He needs something to keep his mind busy, to give him a schedule. These first couple of weeks living in the city have been… well, it’s almost impossible to explain. No, it’s been overwhelming. And not just the matter of last Thursday. It’s just-- everything.

Blaine’s got the general idea of his neighborhood down. It seems simple enough, but he and Sam still got epically lost their first night in town when they were trying to find somewhere for dinner. Since then, he’s refused to leave the apartment without his phone fully charged, map at the ready.

The only way to change this, Blaine decides, is to get to know the neighborhood. By early afternoon, he hits the pavement, taking one final walk over to the cluster of buildings where most of his classes will be. It’s a little bit of a hike, but the walk is nice, and pretty straightforward.

He’s a little scared of New York. Not of the city itself, but the sheer size of it. He can only imagine how easy it would be to get lost in the shuffle, to fall through the cracks and disappear. He shakes his head. It’s too soon to be thinking about all of this. Really, he just needs to give himself some time to get used to everything. He needs time to figure out where he can get the best deal on his groceries, and how much is too much for him to carry up the three flights of stairs up to the apartment. He needs to meet people, make some new friends, and just let himself have fun.

On his way home, just a block or so away, he decides he needs an evening pick-me-up. He ducks into a small shop, ready for a cup of coffee to warm him up. It’s nice inside, scrubbed wooden tables are high up and in the front of the store, a smattering of people young and old seated, some on their computers, some just there to hang around. There seems to be a bit of a store in the back; there’s people, but it’s certainly not crowded. There’s an upbeat rock beat filtering through the air, the pungent smell of coffee wafting through the air. He lines up at the counter and surveys the menu, when ringing laughter bursts out from the back of the shop.

A _very_ familiar laugh.

The last time he heard that laugh was when it bounced off dirty concrete walls, fingers gripping hard at his hips.

In what he hopes is a sneaky way, Blaine peers around the huge man in front of him for confirmation. And it’s exactly who he thought it would be. _Kurt_. He’s right here, a block and a half away from Blaine’s home.

For just a split second, Blaine considers stepping out of line, turning his back on the shop and running home to hide. But he doesn’t. It would be absolutely ridiculous to do that. Sure, he’s been spending the last twelve days thinking about him, fantasizing about this very moment, but now that he’s actually faced with the reality? Holy _shit_.

At the same time, he doesn’t want to walk right up to Kurt, especially when he’s with his friends. It’s rude, for one thing. And what if Kurt’s not out to his friends? Even worse, what if Kurt just doesn’t remember Blaine at all? What if he’s just another random hook up among the many and Blaine is just embarrassing himself by walking right up to him.

No. He’s going to stand his ground. If Kurt doesn’t remember him, or just doesn’t see him, then fine. So be it. But if he does remember Blaine….

“Well, look who it is,” says a sudden voice. _Oh_ , Blaine thinks, _that voice_. It makes him feel weak in the knees, his stomach squirms. He turns his head in what he hopes is a nonchalant way. He’s a bit more relaxed than the last time Blaine saw him: his jeans are purposefully ripped, tee-shirt just peeking out from behind his leather jacket. _Play it cool, Anderson._

“Oh! I didn’t see you,” Blaine says. “Kurt, right?” Blaine smiles, celebrating in his head. There’s a reason why he was such a good actor in high school, and it’s good to know that the years haven’t left him rusty.

“Right,” Kurt says. “Fancy seeing you here, Blaine.” He’s relaxed, just a hint of a friendly teasing to his tone.

Blaine’s trying to play it cool, but he’s really close to failing. “Yes, well. I live in the area, so. Yeah,” he ends lamely.

Kurt smiles. He’s different from the last time they met. It’s like he’s not trying to impress. Or rather, he’s relaxed. Not trying to be that enigma that Blaine met. The barista takes Blaine’s order, Kurt watching him quietly by his side through the entire transaction.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” Kurt blurts out. Blaine’s eyebrows jump up towards his hairline, surprised. He shakes his head, words caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up at all, but he can’t help but feel a surge of excitement. “Good. There’s this party out in Bushwick on Friday,” Kurt says slowly. For all the confidence he seems to exude, he’s as close to shy and awkward as Blaine’s ever seen him. Not that he’s seen a lot of him.

“And?” Blaine asks, teasing, trying to flirt just a little bit.

“And I’d love to see you there,” Kurt says finally but with such confidence, the tiniest hint of a blush gracing his cheeks. It’s the cutest thing ever. Blaine’s got all these ideas of punks and maybe Kurt’s not really a punk, but either way, it’s not what Blaine ever expected. Maybe it’s a show he’s putting on, maybe it’s not.

“Well, maybe if you give me the address,” Blaine starts, pulling out his cell phone and offering it to Kurt, “you’ll see me there.” Even before Blaine’s really done speaking, Kurt’s taken the phone in hand and types out what Blaine guesses is the location for this party.

“I really hope I do,” Kurt says. He carries himself straight and tall, shoulders squared. His grin is almost cocky, but not like the shit-eating grin that was almost constantly plastered on his face at the club last week. His friends are starting to head out the door, calling for him. Kurt starts stepping back, following them. “Sorry, but I got to get going.”

Blaine understands, he does. “Yeah, okay.”

They part, but not before Kurt leans in to place a delicate kiss low on Blaine’s cheek, his eyebrow ring brushing Blaine’s temple. “Don’t forget the bow tie, okay?” Kurt says, leaving with one final backward glance.

The barista slides Blaine’s coffee across the counter to him. He’d completely forgotten about that.

Blaine wants to go home, fling himself on his bed and flail just a little bit. Because he has a date. Well, not a date, but it’s….something. With a cute boy. And something is a lot more what he had less than ten minutes ago. But he’s going to keep his poker face on, all the way home, until he’s locked away in his bedroom.

He will not squeal.

He will play it cool.

He will go out and buy a new bow tie, just for Kurt.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Friday comes around before Blaine can really believe it. He’s nervous on the packed subway; it’s his first time going all the way out to Brooklyn, let alone this late at night.

Plus, he’s got this… thing with Kurt. Is it a date? Is it just them hanging out?  He sighs, finally standing, making his way to the door.

Finally, he gets off at the Montrose stop, stepping on to the platform. When he emerges above ground, there’s a moment of panic; he has no idea where he is, and how to get where he’s supposed to go. It’s only a fleeting thing though; he pulls out his phone, consults his map, and is on his way.

He sort of wishes he had some company with him. Blaine completely understands why Sam declined his offer to tag along. Neither knew what to expect of this evening and Blaine would end up feeling guilty if he ditched Sam.

The walk isn’t really that far, only a couple of blocks. And it’s really not that bad of an area. Sure, Blaine’s an adult, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to throw caution to the wind. The outside of the building is nice enough; it actually reminds Blaine a bit of his own neighborhood back in Manhattan. He stops just for a moment, hand on the doorknob, gathering himself. He likes parties, but he’s usually used to knowing more than just one person. What if Kurt’s not there yet? Worse yet, what if he never shows up?

Before he can let himself freak out any more, he hits the button marked 1B and waits. He’s buzzed in.  The hallway is clean, nice, and honestly not what Blaine expected. It’s not like any of the parties he went to in college; those parties could be heard for miles, and there was always that couple outside trying to lick each other’s tonsils and one guy passed out on the floor. But not here.

He finds 1B, and knocks.

The door opens right away. Greeting him, is a tall, dark-haired, man with smudged eyeliner and a battered looking blazer with colorful pins on the lapels, what look like glued on spikes across his shoulders.

“Hey, we’re sorry to ask, but we’ve got a bit of a donation pot going for the show,” he says. His voice is kind, not at all what Blaine expected.

“Oh.” Blaine reaches back for his wallet. “Is this a thing in New York?  I’m not complaining or anything, but-”

“You’re Kurt’s friend aren’t you?” the man interrupts, smiling. “He said you’d be a bit out of your element.” Blaine blushes just a little bit at that, nodding.

“That’s one way to put it.” Blaine fishes a five out of his wallet, ready to hand it over.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man says, pulling back the clear jar he’d been collecting with. “We’ve got you covered. Come on in.” The man steps back from the door, beckoning Blaine inside.

It’s even more bizarre when get gets inside. The apartment isn’t packed or anything like that. They step right into the open kitchen and living room. Four different doors lead of to different rooms along the side and back wall. There’s a couple of crusty looking punks with their bright, spiked hair sprawled out on the couch, drunk or stoned but Blaine just can’t tell the difference. Is he really here that early? Kurt had told him to show up at around nine thirty, and it was well past that by now.

He should just turn around and go home; he’ll apologize to the nice guy that let him in the apartment for wasting his time, and leave because he is so incredibly out of his element.

“You should relax a bit,” the man says, returning with a drink in hand and passing it to Blaine. It looks like it’s just soda in an innocuous red cup, but Blaine has no idea what to expect. Of course he’d heard horror stories from everyone that he told he was moving to New York. He tries sniffing it, but unless he brings it right up to his nose and makes it really obvious, there’s no way he can play this off casually.

The man chuckles a little bit. “I promise it’s just soda. We really never have liquor at these things. Get’s the crowd a little too loud.” Blaine looks around at the crowd around them. He’s not serious right? So far, Blaine’s seen a rowdier bunch of grandmothers on the bus.

“I’m Elliot, by the way,” the man greets. “I saw you earlier this week in the coffee shop.”

Blaine thinks back to the faceless group of people that Kurt was with earlier in the week, but honestly can’t remember any of their faces. “Oh, of course, sure,” Blaine says, nervous, and trying to be polite but he has literally no idea what he’s doing here.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember. I imagine you were a bit… distracted.”

It’s at that moment that their rather awkward conversation is interrupted by a group of people bursting through one of the doors on the back wall. They’re sort of loud, and happy sounding, excited and clearly enjoying themselves. And finally, right smack in the middle of the crowd is Kurt, who notices Blaine almost instantly. How could he not? Blaine and his bow tie stick out like a sore thumb in this group.

“You made it!” Kurt cries with a grin, crossing the room in just a few strides. His pants stretch tight across his thighs, steel-toed boots scuffed up, and his familiar leather jacket on over a battered old Modern Lovers shirt. A couple of metal chains hang around his neck, his hair a shocking shade of pink and pushed up off his forehead.

“I did!” Blaine says, Kurt’s enthusiasm already rubbing off on him. Once Kurt reaches him, he pulls Blaine into an unexpected hug that Blaine returns with his one free hand. He smells like fresh air, the faint hint of cologne, and a bit like cigarette smoke. Blaine loves it immediately.

“And you got something to drink?” asks Kurt, pulling back, his hands still plastered to Blaine’s shoulders.

Blaine holds up the cup that Elliot handed him before. “All set.”

“Excellent,” says Kurt. He’s still got that smile plastered across his face. Now that there are more people milling around the room, Blaine feels less like the center of attention, and has absolutely no problem looking at, checking out really, Kurt. “I’m glad you found the place. I was a bit worried you weren’t going to show up.”

“Yeah. Wanna know a secret?” Blaine asks, leaning forward just a little bit. He has no idea what Kurt expects out of tonight, or any night really, but he’s going to make an effort. To tease just a little bit and flirt, just so there’s no confusion. Kurt raises his eyebrow just a little bit, leaning down just a little bit and in towards Blaine, nodding earnestly. “This is actually my first trip out to Brooklyn,” Blaine stage whispers.

Kurt immediately pulls back, laughing that same careless, wonderful laugh Blaine heard earlier this week. He wants to spend the rest of his life making Kurt laugh like that. “Really?” Kurt says, when his laughter has died down just enough to start getting words out. “I had absolutely no idea.” His eyes glitter, teasing, going along with the joke. Blaine knows it’s painfully obvious that he’s out of place, that he almost constantly looks like a deer trapped in oncoming headlights, but Kurt’s trying to make him feel okay. “Well, what do you think of Brooklyn so far?”

Blaine scrambles for words. “Um,” he finally starts. “Is it okay to say I have no idea yet?”

Kurt nods. “Of course. I had no idea what to think of it when I first moved out here either.” Their conversation is nice, easy. He likes this side of Kurt. The Kurt that he first met was undeniably sexy, dangerous almost, a puzzle that Blaine couldn’t figure out. But this Kurt is simply nice. He’s genuine and someone that Blaine can see getting along with. “You made it just in time for the headliners.”

Blaine’s brow furrows with confusion. Before he can stutter out any kind of question, Kurt take him by the hand and starts to lead him to one of the doors. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” Behind them, the previously lazy group follows them. Kurt pulls open the door, and that’s when a blast of sound hits them: the buzz of voices, the solitary strum of a guitar, the crash of a cymbal. “Careful on your way down!” Kurt calls over his shoulder, making his way down a flight of stairs.

It’s dark and humid in the basement. A small stage, barely a couple of inches off the floor, is set up against the far wall. It’s a tiny little area, the walls lined with mattresses, and Christmas lights hang from the low ceilings, a strobe light flashes, bouncing a rainbow of colors around the room. There’s a band warming up, hyping up their audience, and Blaine can’t understand a word they’re saying. He is so totally out of his element he has no idea what to do. They’re standing on the outskirts of the crowd, lingering.

“I don’t,” Blaine starts, looking for words. “What is all of this?”

Kurt laughs. “It’s a basement show of course!” Well duh, Blaine figured that much out on his own.

“Is this even legal?”

And just like that, Kurt flashes that coy smile of his, takes Blaine by the hand and brings him into the thick of the crowd, just as the opening lick of the first song starts. As jostled as Blaine had been at the other show, this is ridiculous. He’s literally being shoved this way and that way by gross, sweaty people who are literally stomping on his feet with no regard for others.

But right him the entire time, is Kurt. Pushing people away when they get too aggressive, walking Blaine through the process, telling him, or rather shouting over the din of music and people, that it’s perfectly okay to shove back, and how to always pay attention for people trying to crowd surf unless he wants to get kicked in the head.

And Kurt’s there when he loses his footing, his strong chest right up against Blaine’s black, catching him, arms wrapping around his chest, holding him up and good god if that isn’t a flashback right to their first night together. And Blaine knows Kurt’s thinking the exact same thing. When he stands back up on his own feet, he definitely can feel Kurt’s dick hard and brushing right against his ass.

Moshing be damned, Blaine knows how to play this game. Suddenly every chance they have, Blaine’s ass is nestled right into the front of Kurt’s pants, grinding back to the beat of the bass. He’s not going to play hard to get at all. In fact, it’s really quite the opposite.  It’s just a matter of time until one of them finally makes a move. He’s trying to be strong, at least last through this one band, but soon Kurt brings his lips down to Blaine’s neck, nibbling at his ear lobe. Shit.

The band keeps going, the crowd more and more rowdy and wild, getting ready for the final act, some little band from a few blocks away that only just started, but, according to Kurt, know how to put on a hell of a show and is the reason why the crowd is here tonight.

Blaine’s skin is on fire. And if Kurt’s strong hands on Blaine’s hips are any indication, he’s feeling pretty similar. That’s when Blaine finally turns around in Kurt’s arms, bringing his hand up to rest on Kurt’s leather clad shoulders. He wishes he could be quieter, sexier, whisper this in Kurt’s ear seductively, but he has to shout. “I have the apartment to myself tonight.” Without stopping to think, he seals his offer with a kiss, immediately dirty, tongue shoving its way into Kurt’s mouth. There’s a new piercing or maybe Blaine’s never noticed the stud, but oh that’s hot. It’s over just as soon as it starts, Blaine pulling back before Kurt can respond.

Kurt’s eyes widen, interested. Blaine can almost see the cogs working in Kurt’s head. “Where do you live? Manhattan, right?”

Blaine nods. Kurt leans back in, capturing Blaine’s mouth with his own, bringing a free hand up to roughly run his fingers through Blaine’s gelled hair, his other hand sneaking its way down back of Blaine’s pants, cupping his ass. They’re in the middle of the crowd, Blaine practically dry humping Kurt’s leg. They lose themselves in it for just a moment, foreheads pressed together, eyes open.

Kurt steps back, kind of destroying the moment they had going. It’s a little annoying, Blaine thinks. If Kurt doesn’t want to fool around tonignt, then he should at least have the decency not to lead him on.

But then Kurt surprises him.

“Follow me,” he says, his voice husky, almost lost in the noise around them. Again, Kurt takes him by the hand, nearly dragging him out of the jumble of people. Kurt leads him through one of the downstairs doors on the back wall, pulling Blaine inside and slamming the door shut behind them.

Blaine doesn’t even stop to question where they are, and can’t really since Kurt’s got his tongue down his throat. He knows they’re in a bedroom; as they stumbled away from the door, Blaine tripped back against a bed, falling down, and taking Kurt down with him.  It’s like Kurt’s already crawled underneath his skin and into Blaine’s very being because every time they’re together.

It’s a frantic rush to strip off each other’s clothes, Blaine rips the leather jacket off, tossing it to the floor, and the shirt comes off next. Kurt’s made quick work of Blaine’s pants, he practically tore the buttons off Blaine’s shirt in frustration, before Blaine comes to rescue and pulls it off over his own head. And it’s wonderful this time that they can actually be naked, fully disrobed. He’s blind to everything, but Blaine can run his hands over what feels like miles and miles of smooth, warm skin, planes of hard muscle moving rhythmically towards one goal. Blaine’s already obsessed with every one of the metal rings, kissing, sucking, licking each one while Kurt’s nipping at his throat, no doubt making sure the hickies from last time don’t fade away.

Their legs are tangled together, cocks pressed together and squeezed between their stomachs, working out a grinding rhythm. Right when they finally work something out, and Blaine can feel the heat beginning to pool in his belly, Kurt pulls back, supporting himself fully on his hands and knees above.

“No, no, come back,” Blaine whines, twisting his fingers through Kurt’s hair.

Kurt laughs that deep, raspy chuckle from all those weeks before, the one that Blaine could feel rumbling from the depths of Kurt’s chest. “I have something new to play with.”

Kurt starts kissing down Blaine’s torso, leaving nips and sucks on his journey south. He pauses at Blaine’s nipples, starting with just a gentle lick with the tip of his tongue, before giving it one good, sloppy lick with his full tongue, the little metal piercing swirling around the nub of Blaine’s nipple, cold.    

He starts jerking Blaine off, slowly at first, just to get used to the angle, and then picks up speed. His mouth finally catches up to his hands, the cool stud flicking out to touch the tip first, pressed right under the ridge of the crown before Kurt sucks him into his mouth. Blaine can’t help the litany of gasps and moans and oh fucks that pour from his mouth.  

It doesn’t last as long as Blaine would like it to. He tugs on Kurt’s hair, franticly warning him, giving Kurt that chance to pull off and away, but Kurt keeps going, picking up the pace, wet and slurping, and with one, dry finger pressed against his hole, Blaine’s driven over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Kurt’s not far behind, jerking himself off, up on his knees and hovering over Blaine, licking the remains of Blaine’s come off his fingertips, and finally comes with a choked off gasp all over Blaine’s stomach.

They collapse next to each other, limbs tangled, panting. Weightless, thoughtless. Kurt inches closer to Blaine’s side; he’s got his hand on Blaine’s stomach, fingers lazily dancing across the smooth skin. It’s...incredibly overwhelming. Sure, he’s thought about a future with Kurt, but only really in passing. But right here, right now? He can actually see it happening, not at all concerned by these thoughts being too soon, that he’s falling for Kurt too quickly. Blaine considers sleeping for a moment, cozy and sated, but when the music outside stops, and the crowd cheers one final time, he starts with a sudden shock.

“We need to leave,” he whispers, moving to get up, but Kurt grasps his upper arm firmly, keeping Blaine in bed.

“What’s the rush?”

“The show just ended,” Blaine states, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which, it kind of it. “Don’t you think we should like get out of here?”

Kurt chuckles. Blaine can feel him moving, the bedding rustling. Kurt switches on a small lamp next to the bed, bathing the room in a soft, orange light. It’s actually pretty nice, much nicer than the drab, college-dorm type decorating that the rest of the apartment has. The walls are some light shade of color, even though the furniture is dark and masculine. There’s a rack of clothing against the wall in lieu of a closet; it’s clean and put together, more spacious than Blaine’s own room. “Relax. We have plenty of time,” Kurt says softly, rummaging around the bedside table.

Blaine shoots him a confused look, which Kurt clearly misses. Maybe Kurt’s okay and used to being chased out of stranger’s bedrooms and rooting around their stuff, but Blaine seriously wants to avoid that ever happening.

“Seriously, lay back down. Unless you want to run all the way back to Manhattan, of course,” Kurt says. “Which is an absolute pain in the ass this time of night, unless you want to take one of those fucking creepy cabs.”

“I just,” Blaine starts, words dying in his mouth. He’s starting to feel nervous again, like he’s just messing everything up and is in over his head. He can do the music and the crowd, but he’s just not used to just using someone’s space like this. “I just think... isn’t it rude?”

It’s apparently Kurt’s turn to be confused; he turns back to Blaine, brows furrowed. In the light of the lamp, he’s absolutely gorgeous like this; hair a complete rumpled mess, his full naked body on display, dark splashes of ink tattooed on his skin that Blaine will definitely be coming back to examine at some point. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we just had sex in someone bedroom without asking-” Blaine’s cut off by Kurt’s laugh. Which is infuriating in that moment because Blaine is clearly missing something. Kurt turns back to the bedside, finally finding a cigarette and lighting it up.

“This is my apartment. You’re in my bed,” Kurt says, taking a drag. He exhales and offers it to Blaine, who shakes his head, still trying to absorb this new information.

“You asshole!” Blaine cries, shoving Kurt just a little bit in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was freaking out that some random dude was going to barge in here and kick my ass!” Blaine can’t help but laugh a little—he’d built up this entire situation in his head and now that they’re in the clear, it’s actually kind of funny.  Maybe he’s just a too high-strung and really does need to relax.

“Please, as if I would let anything bad happen to that ass of yours, baby,” Kurt growls, the sound of it going straight to Blaine’s dick, twitching in interest.

Kurt grins. He inhales once again, leans forward and sucks at Blaine’s collarbone, smoky exhale coming out of his nose. He never thought he would, but Blaine finds it incredibly sexy.


End file.
